


the wind

by aureafolia



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, idk what this is but the flight range theme got my up in my feelings so have a drabble ig, implied pre-calamity zelink if you squint, melancholy Link, omnipresent Zelda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureafolia/pseuds/aureafolia
Summary: The villagers thought me invincible, the war all but won with the divine fleet on our side. But you and I know better, don’t we, princess?
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12
Collections: Despondent: Breath of the Wild Drabbles





	the wind

Rito Village had celebrated Vah Medoh’s freedom with gusto.

My return was met with lanterns lit in honor of the fallen champions, with music and dancing and a feast. They called me Hero. Conqueror of the Divine. They showered me with gratitude I’m not owed, with gifts I have no need for, with praise I don’t deserve. Everyone was lighthearted, cheerful. Hopeful.

Perhaps that’s what drew me here, to the Hebra range -- cold, harsh, unforgiving. It’s in sharp contrast to the village that shines like a star on the distant horizon, but I don’t feel quite as out of place amongst the lurking monsters as I did participating in a premature celebration. 

The villagers thought me invincible, the war all but won with the divine fleet on our side. But you and I know better, don’t we princess?

I’d slipped away quietly into the night, keeping my head low as I made my way down to the landing, named in Revali’s honor. From my vantage point I saw the castle lurking in the distance, sheathed in Ganon’s malice and glowing ominously. Four identical beams of red light cut through the night sky, targeting the source, supposedly weakening its influence.

But your presence is still faint. Dwindling. The calamity still churns, pushes back against all our efforts to keep it at bay. Makes every victory seem insignificant. 

The war is far from over. 

Snow-laden fields give way to rocky outcroppings. My toes are numb in my shoes, heart numb in my chest, mind numb as well. It’s muscle memory that guides me to Dronoc’s Pass. The thought is almost funny, in a melancholy way that makes something twist in my chest like a dagger. Earlier today I’d had no inkling the flight range existed -- not until I’d sought out Teba. Now, I’m pelted with half-memories that feel as though they belong to someone else.

The cabin where we once stayed hasn’t aged well. The ladder leading up to the platform is missing rungs, the boards across the windows have begun to rot, and the roof is sagging in the middle. The inside has been ravaged by scavenging beasts -- broken glass strewn across the floor, drawers flung open and hanging lopsided on their hinges. The fire pit that we cooked over, huddled for warmth and waiting out a storm, is toppled over in a pile of rubble and ash. It bothers me that I can’t even remember why we found ourselves here in the first place. 

My heart catches in my throat when I see the cot. 

I approach it slowly, as if in a trance, memories and emotions and snippets of conversation whizzing through my mind. Moth-eaten and wobbly, shoved up against the wall, but otherwise untouched. I ease myself onto it, splay my fingers across the scratchy fabric that’s turned brittle with age. Take a shuddering breath and close my eyes, tears streaking down my face as I mourn a long-dead memory that I can’t quite grasp. 

I feel like an outsider in my own body. I’m not the same one you held close, the one trusted with your life, the one you fought to keep. I’m an imposter, and my grief feels misplaced, and I hate how much it hurts to know how close I am to failing you once again.

Impa told me you hid the Master Sword away somewhere safe. She told me that when the time was right, it would call out to me.

She neglected to tell me that without it, I would feel incomplete. Hollow and empty, and uncertain what more I can do to be worthy of its call once again. If I ever was to begin with.

I stumble out of the cabin, lean heavily against the rickety wooden railing and peer below, into the steep dropoff with its ceaseless updraft. I grit my teeth, anger and pain and confusion and anguish all coming to a crescendo, impossible to tamp down any longer.

The howling winds of the flight range swallow my screams.

I don’t stop until my throat is raw, breath shallow and ragged. I kneel and brace myself against the railing, pressing my forehead against a beam and weeping, hand covering my face in shame even though no one is around to bear witness to my breakdown.

Except you. I feel you in my bones, in the wind, in the air I breathe. Ever present. And for once, Zelda, I wish you would abandon me to suffer alone.

Maybe this is how you felt about me, all those years ago. 

Pulsing blue light draws my attention to my hip, the sigil on my Sheikah slate glowing faintly. My throat tightens. I’ve yet to try out Revali’s parting gift. 

The thought pushes me to my feet, carries me to the drop-off. I chew on my lip as I stare up, nightfall bleeding into hazy gray through a filter of snowflakes. The tablet in my hand is warm, solid, and nearly jumps to life when I press the new rune, aptly shaped like a falcon.

The wind changes course, whistling as it swirls around my feet. Ancient light wreaths me, and when I make the jump, Revali’s spirit is there to catch me. His wings, faint and fleeting, lift me higher into the air than I could ever soar alone. 

Revali challenged. Urbosa empowered. Daruk protected. Mipha comforted. There is very little I remember about the other champions, but I know enough to grieve their loss. 

Yet I was the one spared, for reasons beyond my grasp. What purpose could I possibly serve, if I couldn’t save any of you in time? Who would grieve the faceless knight of a forgotten era, forsaken by his blade and country, if a century of failures were to drag him down to the bottom of the frozen river below?

Snowflakes dust my eyelashes, sting my cheeks like a flurry of reproachful kisses. _I would_ , the wind whispers solemnly in my ear, as my hair whips forward in freefall, _I have, and I would again._

My heart clenches with shame for even entertaining the thought, knowing how it must wound you, and my fingers tighten their grasp. I would not presume to let your sacrifice be in vain.

I open my paraglider and coast to the pillar in the center of the pass, scrabbling for a foothold and clinging to weathered stone for dear life. I climb on top of it and crouch, eyes scanning the horizon past the lip of the pass. I don’t know where to go from here, and in quiet moments, when I feel the need to orient myself, I always look to you for guidance. I can’t see the castle from here, but I can see faint red streaks in the sky. A blemish of the calamity, blooming like a malignant rose. I pray and hope to Hylia or whoever might take pity on us to show me how to cut it down at its roots.

It comes to me slowly, gently, like flower petals drifting in a midsummer breeze. I can’t see or hear it, but I feel it in my weary bones -- yearning, longing for a piece of myself I lost long ago. The wind lifts as if by your hand, caressing my face and lifting my chin to look up into a dizzying whirlwind of snow. Your voice resonates in the depths of my soul, stirring something in me that’s laid dormant for far too long, familiar yet foreign all the same.

_Take heart, my brave, dearest knight. It is time to heed the sword’s call._

It feels like hope.

**Author's Note:**

> The flight range theme feels muted and melancholic and lonely... but with a few hopeful notes. This was my attempt to capture that feeling.


End file.
